


Red Ribbon in the Wind

by perdiccas



Category: Heroes - Fandom
Genre: Barebacking, Bondage, M/M, Master/Apprentice, Orgasm Denial, Porn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-07-26
Updated: 2009-07-26
Packaged: 2017-10-02 11:12:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perdiccas/pseuds/perdiccas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sylar teaches Luke about the importance of control.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Red Ribbon in the Wind

"Don't come," Sylar breathes, falling lightly to his knees.

He drapes the ribbon over Luke's cock, the frayed ends brushing like a whisper against Luke's thighs, leaves it there as he slides his lips down, down, at a torturously measured pace. Luke cries out, his head thrown back as Sylar's mouth meets that ribbon, a slippery wash of spit turning the crimson fabric dark. He rakes his hands through Sylar's hair, grasping fistfuls that he tugs and pulls, restless hips rocking forward into the vacuum made by Sylar's hollowed cheeks. But Sylar's hands are solid against his upper thighs, the tips of his thumbs crooked to rest against Luke's iliac crests and he holds him still.

Tongue dragging up his length, a hot rasp along the contours of his veins, pressing firmly up against the spot below his crown that makes Luke gasp: Luke feels the ribbon start to slip as he writhes, sliding like satin against his swollen flesh and just as the ribbon is about to fall, Sylar catches it in his fist, head pulled back to leave Luke shivering, a gossamer fine line of spit still tethering them together.

He winds the ribbon around Luke's base, once, twice and again, behind Luke's balls, cinching up and caging him. In a figure of eight, Sylar coils the ribbon around Luke's sac, each of his balls encircled in a loop of red, trapping Luke's delicate skin but never pinching. He ignores Luke's plaintive whimpers, eyes dark in concentration as he leads the ribbon higher, meandering around Luke's dick. Like the peppermint swirl on a candy cane, Sylar curves the ribbon up Luke's length, the pad of his finger tracing the slippery-smooth grain of the fabric as he goes. Twice, tight, the ribbon is curled around Luke's crown. Nimble fingers build twists and layers that fall just short of a knot; an opalescent drop of pre-come dribbles from Luke's slit to wet the wad of silken ribbon that Sylar's left pressed just below the head. Then down again, the ribbon snakes, criss-crossing like basket weave, a harlequin pattern of flushed pinks and reds laid out in flesh and ribbon.

Luke holds his breath, quivering as he watches Sylar work, his fingers moving in an intricate dance over his skin. Luke's almost too caught in the artistry of it to register the heady, constant thrum of pleasure through his core. Sylar holds the free end of the ribbon securely in his fingers; Luke's toes curl against the carpet when it seems as if it might be just inches too short. But Sylar _tugs_ and Luke _groans_, each loop and curve and coil hugging tighter to his throbbing, overheated cock. He ties the ribbon off behind Luke's balls.

"Don't come," Sylar orders again softly, plump lips pressing butterfly kisses to Luke's glistening tip.

He stands with breathtaking grace, long limbs stretching with the fluid movement. Sylar circles behind him, knuckles skating gently against his handiwork and Luke sways back to rest against his chest, whole body trembling. They stare in the mirror at Luke's bound cock, Luke's heavy, panting breaths fogging up the glass.

"Beautiful," Sylar sighs as Luke's cock twitches, strains more forcefully towards his navel. And with the movement Luke feels light headed, his flesh constrained from growing harder still even as more blood rushes to his groin, engorging him and trapping him. The jerk of his cock forces the knotted ends of the ribbon up, pressing like a teasing knuckle, playing over his perineum, and the lump that Sylar's built just below his crown rubs maddeningly against him with every movement. Sylar's arm wraps around him, holding him steady before he falls.

Sylar bends him forward, braces his hands at the sides of the mirror. Luke wails, ruts ineffectually back, as a single slick finger probes teasingly inside him. Sylar's hand is firm as it clamps around his hip, staying Luke's wanton thrusts so that all he can do is keen, that single slim finger twisting as it slides in and out.

"Don't come," Sylar rasps a final time.

A second finger joins the first, dragging with aching precision over his prostate, glacier slow, back and forth until Luke's babbling, Sylar's nails digging into his skin to keep him steady. And when they finally separate and stretch him, a greased third rounding out their number, it's all Luke can do to stop himself from sobbing, the pleasure within his dick a burning heat, restrained by the cruelly binding ribbon.

The blunt head of Sylar's cock presses at his opening.

"Control," Sylar gasps, barely moving as he inches his way inside with shallow rolls of his hips. "Control of your body…"

Luke can hardly breathe, the burning of the stretch, the thickness of Sylar's cock seeming so much greater now than when it's rough. He grips the mirror tighter, sweaty forehead pressed against the glass and he watches as his cock pulses futilely within its confines.

"Control of your mind…" he grunts, fully seated inside, his lips at Luke's ear, hot breath curling on Luke's skin. He rolls his hips, and twists them, grinding himself to Luke, the pressure on Luke's prostate ripping mindless howls of pleasure from him.

Sylar covers Luke's hands with his, fingers interlacing, absorbing the waves of heat inside himself that Luke unconsciously emits. "Control of your ability…"

His hips draw back at that same interminable pace and forward again. And the shaking of Sylar's thighs where they're pressed to Luke's is the only sign that maybe Sylar's control is less than absolute.

"When you master them all," he growls, hips thrusting that much faster, that much deeper, swivelling when his balls rest against Luke's ass. "That's when no one can make themselves your master."

"Don't come," Sylar spits as the mounting, swirling heat deep within Luke crescendos to a fever pitch. And as desperate as Luke is to obey and make Sylar proud, his resolve has long since crumbled, hips snapping back and forth in an artless, needy rhythm. He clenches tight around Sylar's cock, near to weeping in frustration as he feels Sylar slam hard inside him, still and come, and yet, the now vice-like ribbon around his base keeps him from following suit.

"But until you can control yourself," he pants, palms sliding up Luke's sweat-slick chest, soothing trembling muscles. He shushes Luke as he begs and pleads, Luke's lashes wet with unbidden tears. He curls his hand around Luke's chin, turns and tilts his head to rest his mouth on the flushed swell of his cheek.

"Until you can control yourself…" he says again, fingers sliding pitilessly down Luke's length, each brush of skin to skin exquisite torture. "…I'll do it for you."

"Come," he orders hoarsely, tugging at the knot behind Luke's balls, the ribbon harness Luke's been ensnared in coming free with one sharp pull. And Luke _screams_ as his orgasm rips through him in a burning, fiery whorl of pleasure, his semen painted across the mirror in streaks of pearlescent white, and the crimson ribbon flutters to the floor between their feet.


End file.
